Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.

Life’s a freaking mess… there’s not one truth ever, just a bunch of stories, all going on at once, in our heads, in our hearts, all getting in the way of each other. It’s all a beautiful calamitous mess.

At least, the sun had the decency to stay the hell away from us.

It's time for second chances. It's time to remake the world.

I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.

The. World. Is. Not. A. Safe. Place.

Life's a freaking mess. In fact, I'm going to tell Sarah we need to start a new philosophical movement: messessentialism instead of existentialism: For those who revel in the essential mess that is life. Because Gram's right, there's not one truth ever, just a bunch of stories, all going on at once, in our heads, in our hearts, all getting in the way of each other. It's all a beautiful calamitous mess. It's like the day Mr. James took us into the woods and cried triumphantly, "That's it! That's it!" to the dizzying cacophony of soloing instruments trying to make music together. That is it.